The Most Deadly Poisons
by MonPetitLoupDeMort
Summary: When Bakura discovers that his mere presence is slowly killing Ryou, what will he do? How far would he go to get his own body? And what would happen to Ryou if he did? May become crossover.
1. Silence

Ryou walked into the in-between classroom, on the way to his own, glad to be back in school. He missed going to classes, they had become the high point of his day. That is, after he had taken possession of the millennium ring, or rather it had taken possession of him. It was one of the very few times he could count on the spirit laying dormant. He had to put on a normal front for Yugi and co. But beside that, Ryou had enjoyed learning way before the spirit came along.

-Oh, come on. You're always so impersonal when you think of me. I have a name you know, landlord.-

-Yeah, so do I. What's your point, spirit? - Ryou returned, with a bored air.

Bakura, even though he was cooperative during school hours, tended to get bored, and kept up a constant chatter in the back of Ryou's head. Ryou had a knack for listening to two things at once, so he just focused most of his attention on the teacher. Once Bakura felt he was safe, and that Ryou was no longer listening, he sometimes would go into stories about his past or recite ancient poetry(most of it bloody and involving death of all characters or anguish beyond imagination) or occasionally even tell the atrocities he committed while Ryou should have been in bed sleeping at night. But if Ryou even once shifted his attention, just ever so slightly, Bakura would clam up and offer a snide remark at whatever Ryou was thinking about. Ryou was beginning to take it for granted that he had no privacy, even in his thoughts.

"Hey, buddy! You're back! Good to see ya well again!" Joununchi exclaimed.

"Ryou, are you feeling better? We missed you in class." Yugi asked softly.

"Yes, just fine. I missed going to class as well." Ryou felt jealousy, even anger towards Yugi sometimes. Why did he have to get the spirit that wouldn't go homicidal at the drop of a hat, that cared what he felt? Yugi would never have to wake up in the morning wondering whose blood covered his hands and how it got there.

-He's bloodthirsty enough. He just likes to pretend he can hide it, and act all civilized. Makes me sick. You can't deny your nature forever, pharaoh.-

Ryou thought he had gotten better at hiding his feelings, but there were no secrets kept from the voice in his head that pried open things that had been laid to rest, things better left in the dark.

"Did you get the 'Get Well Soon' card the class sent you?" Anzu asked. Being president of the class, she no doubt suggested, organized, and coordinated the effort.

"Yes, it was lovely. I swear, it made me get better sooner." Ryou replied. Anzu blushed lightly at the praise.

"Here's all the notes and homework you need from while you were out. I knew you wouldn't want to miss a single thing." She continued.

"Thank you ever so much. I must be getting to class now, before I'm late." Ryou started to walk away and suddenly felt a familiar sensation of lightheadedness wash over him. 'Not again...' was all he had time to think, before he hit the floor in a flat out faint. The sensation of smacking the floor awoke Bakura (who had started dozing quite peacefully, without Ryou realizing it) quite well, and his eyes snapped open to Yugi, Anzu, Tristan, and Joununchi standing over him. It took a strong effort of will to not to put a set of knives in their hearts right then and there, for being so close to him while unconscious. Once he realized what was going on, he sat up, careful to keep Ryou's appearance.

-This is the fifth time this month, little landlord. This is growing tiresome. I shall cover for you only this once. - Bakura said to the resounding silence in his head.

He flashed a timid thing resembling a smile to Ryou's friends. They chattered with worry, sounding like hens to him, until he made a better smile and profusely reassured them he was fine. He talked them out of escorting them to the nurse, barely. Bakura just hated having to make up cover stories for 'mysterious deaths'. There are only so many ways to explain a dead person that aren't suspicious. He finally managed to escape, and hid in a bathroom, waiting for Ryou to recover. In the meantime he switched over to his own appearance, to give Ryou a fright when he woke up.

-Sleepyhead, it's not good to fall asleep on you feet, you know.-

-What are you doing? Where am I? - Ryou's voice started off faint, but was getting stronger. He got a good look in the mirror.

-Oh no, no. What have you done this time! What happened to school being untouchable?-

-I bore of such things quickly. You'd better get to class now. - Bakura answered with a mental shrug.

Ryou hurried along out of there. How can I ever explain this to teacher, Ryou thought, sorry my evil spirit decided to take a joyride in my body, and it'll probably happen again?

-He'd never believe you, you know. And I'd have to kill him afterwards anyway.-

-Thanks, that solves all the world's problems, death.-

-A touch of sarcasm, little landlord? Anyway, the teacher won't remember you being late; I'll make sure of it. And a few other things he'll never remember again also. Did you know that you can strip a person out of somebody's memories, and leave all the rest of those memories still intact? It's just hilarious when they come home to a spouse, or child, that they no longer remember. - Bakura cackled his regular insane laugh.

Ryou hurried off to class before the spirit could upset him anymore.

Usually Ryou only needed a couple of hours of sleep to function normally, and he had adapted to even less once the spirit had come along. (Ryou refused to gratify him by using his name. It was too much like accepting him as a permanent resident.)

Today, though, he had even gotten himself a full night's sleep (he was fairly sure) and he just couldn't keep himself from nodding off. He figured that it was the spirit's newest form of torture. You see, because Ryou could not be physically harmed without raising suspicions, the spirit had to get creative with his 'punishments'. Ryou, as of yet, could not think of anything he could even possibly like less than the spirit's idea of creativity.

Ryou hoped vaguely that there wouldn't be a pop quiz on today's material, because the only thing he knew was that it involved elements and minerals. It wasn't helping that the lights were off because the teacher was doing something with the overhead projector.

'Last class of the day. Just a few more minutes. If I can just get through this...'

And with that Ryou slumped quietly down on his desk. It took Bakura a little while to notice that Ryou wasn't moving, at all, and that he couldn't hear Ryou's thoughts.

He focused in on Ryou and realized, with some considerable panic, that, even with his abnormally acute hearing, he couldn't hear the sound of Ryou's breathing.

At all.


	2. Change

Hi, sorry there weren't any notes on the first chapter, I wanted to get it up fast. And I was afraid I would get flamed reaaaaaaaly bad for this story. I probably still will after a few more chapters. I never expected this to already be my second most popular story.

Thank you to -'-Chocolate-Coated-Chocobo-'-, flamethrowerqueen, Ayuka Ryou, T.Lei, and redconvoy for giving me the confidence boost I needed to put up this chapter. I think that five reviews are the most I have gotten in one day. I was so happy that I couldn't sleep very well that night and had to write another chapter. Sorry if it's a little confusing, it will make some more sense soon.

On with the show.

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To put it simply, Bakura panicked. Big time. His vessel, rented body, landlord, master, despised, hated, admired, deadly one, needed one, lay there unmoving for who knows how long, possibly dead or dieing. Bakura had no illusions about keeping Ryou's body if he died, he would just be thrown back into the ring for good, which would probably end up being hidden or destroyed. And he would, no doubt, be blamed for a murder on top of it.

He slammed life force into the body with such an urgency and impact, that it nearly fell off the desk. He managed to grab a fleeting spark of Ryou's spirit on its way out, all that was left, and bound it to the body, so that it couldn't leave even if this happened again. He did not want to die, couldn't just die yet, and so he needed Ryou alive. Truth be told, he also wanted Ryou alive. Dealing with him seemed to keep Bakura a tiny bit more sane, helped him focused on his 'mission'. He would probably never again find someone who needed to be used just as much as Bakura needed to use him.

When Bakura first came out of the ring he was just a tad suicidal, but in a roundabout way, as with everything he did. He had told Ryou that to break the figurines holding his 'friend's' souls would ensure their certain death. He called the figurines 'the vessels of their souls' and in practically the same breath made a reference to the millennium ring as the vessel of his own soul. He also made other subtle hintings, but Ryou didn't follow up on a single one, didn't even seem to think of them for a moment. Either Ryou was very dense, or just as crazy as Bakura in his own way. And Bakura wasn't opting for dense one with the grades that Ryou got. Eventually the will to survive, to live, overpowered him, so he cut out on all the hints and started concentrating on his new life.

Ryou's fleeting spirit seemed to notice the tug of the pinned down last piece as it pulled on that bit, and when it could not be freed, began returning to his body, slowly, reluctantly.

'He's fine now, thank...' Bakura's thought trailed off as he realized he had neither reason to nor wanted to thank either goodness or his gods. 'Still, he's in no condition to pilot a body. Or even be conscious. Sigh. Not again. This happens any more I'll have to remind him why he doesn't want to owe me any favors, and why he surely doesn't want this happening.'

Bakura softly slipped out of the ring and into Ryou's body, careful not to disturb the fragile, recovering spirit. He slowly sat up and looked around, as if he didn't care a whit about what was going on. And for the most part he didn't.

The one thing that he did care about, though, was that no one even noticed him, or that anything had happened. Not even the teacher, who was entrusted with the welfare of her students, had paused in her monologue for so much as a moment. It disgusted him.

'He could have died right here in front of their very faces, and no one would even have known or cared. I doubt that anyone would even have cried. So much for this whole friendship and I've-got-your-back-'cause-you're-my-bud concept that little master wants to believe in so fiercely. None of them truly care for anyone but themselves. And I, to have been perishing right along with him, so few even knowing I exist, and fewer yet caring.' He could barely hide the blazing hatred for the world that crept into his eyes, which kept switching from green to crimson to brown and back. That was the only part of him that betrayed any sort emotion, so he laid his head down on his desk, and waited for the end of the day.

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By the time the bell rang, Bakura had managed to get his eyes under control. He even had a few minutes to work on some fake-sincere smiles, which he had managed to get down pretty quickly, most likely because of muscle memory from all of Ryou's practice.

He was almost out the door and headed home, when who should stop him but the hypocritical pharaoh's modern day counterpart and the crazed peppy dancer wanna-be girl. (aka Yugi and Anzu)

(Author's Note- Please don't kill me for those last remarks. I'm not Anzu- or Yugi-bashing, that's just my opinion of what Bakura's opinion is.)

Yugi was handing out neon-bright fliers and Anzu was tying bright multicolored bracelets onto students' wrists as they passed her on their way out. Bakura put on his best dead-and-distracted-and-tired-and-not-quite-tuned-in-to-reality look, similar to ones Ryou would wear after a day of particularly long day of botherance or simple sorrows. The one that seemed to make him fade into the background and become invisible to passer-by. He didn't quite pull it off though, and was immediately stopped.

"Hey Ryou! Feeling better? Can we still count on your help for Mix-It-Up Day tomorrow? Or do you think you should stay home?" Anzu asked in a sing-songy voice that was way too chipper for any time of the day. Forcing himself to give them a look of interest, while inconspicuously groping for knifes that he wished for, but knew weren't there, Bakura resisted saying he thought that he should murder them all in their sleep, then yell in the pharaoh's face and ask him how it feels.

"Of course," he replied in Ryou's regular courteous manner, containing no trace of his bitter emotions. He flashed them a smile. "I always follow through on my promises." Remember that pharaoh, he mentally added. Remember that when you're sad and broken and alone, all alone with the shadows. He started to walk away.

"Wait!" He heard the cry from behind him. He whirled around to see Anzu holding one of her brilliantly colored pieces of useless frivolity. (aka a bracelet)

"You forgot this." She said waving it at him, before tying it solidly and tightly to his wrist.

"Of course, how silly of me." He responded, with a smile in his eyes and death in his heart.

"Don't forget to tell everyone where you got it. We need all the advertising we can for Mix-It-Up Day. Right, Yugi?"

"Yep, we want as many people as we can to come and celebrate, to meet new people and make new friends. That's the whole spirit of Mix-It-Up-Day."

"Sound's like a plan. See ya!" He said, omitting that he hoped it would be a very looong time before he saw them again. He waved farewell as he moved away quickly, before he could be stopped again.

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While he walked home, he pondered that something had to be seriously wrong in a world where people did not even realize that it was him, and not Ryou, with whom they were conversing and interacting. In the end he passed it off on people's general ignorance and apathy, increasing his despising and loathing for the world. He never considered even for a moment that maybe Ryou had changed since he came. Or that maybe it had been him who had changed and become different because of their meeting.

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There is another short chapter I have written, I just need to touch it up and add a few details, then I will post it when I get home from this trip. I'm stuck in the car for three hours with no internet connection at the moment, coming home from Thanksgiving with the family.

That's all, and I hope all you out there had a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday.


	3. Getting By

Hi, I know that I should be working on Cultural Exchange, but this story just struck me. And I keep getting ideas for this that just beg to be written. I just got the manga where Ryou/Bakura comes in and realized that I had no idea what I thought of Bakura and Ryou's "relationship" was. So I wrote this to work it out. Now that I have a better idea, this fic is just plain fun, so I may continue with it if anyone out there likes it still (aka if there is anyone out there I haven't yet offended somehow with this fic)

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Bakura arrived at the home he shared with Ryou. He wanted to pause under the shade of the magnificent oaks casting shadows on the snow in front of it, but even now he could feel Ryou beginning to struggle to wake up.

He entered the home by picking the lock, even though he knew very well where the spare key was despite Ryou's attempts to conceal it from him. His big bushy hair was a perfect place to hide files and pins and all sorts of other lock-pick tools. He kept telling Ryou that he should change the lock because someone would break through the old rickety lock, but he was simply ignored. Maybe if he just kept breaking in himself, Ryou might eventually change it simply to spite him.

He strode up the steps to his 'bedroom'. Bakura kept a room of the apartment as his own for personal use. In it he kept a lump of blankets he called a bed, his few personal possessions and his best treasure/plunder in there. Not his most expensive or money valuable treasures, but his best and most valued treasures. His bedroom was locked at all times. He had no key for it and simply picked it open every single time. He liked to change the lock every now and then, for no real good reason. If he could leave Ryou's body for extended periods of time without having to go back into the Millennium Ring, it would be to this room he wanted to go.

He went to his collection of daggers. Ryou never spoke to him about them or asked him anything about them. Even so, Bakura could tell when Ryou noted with revulsion each new addition to his collection whenever Bakura showed them to him. Neither of them ever talked about it, but both of them knew that when there was a new dagger, a bloody death would be discovered shortly afterwards. In fact, there was only one dagger that was not obtained through bloodstained methods and had never known the copper burn of human blood on its beautiful, shining blade. It was this dagger he went to now, his favorite. It had a longish flat sort of blade of a pale silvery metal shot through with the tiniest veins of gold. The hilt was carved of a jet black stone with tiny inlays of the same pale silver metal as the blade. It sparkled like the night sky when he gazed at it in the moonlight, the time he most liked to just sit there and stare at it for hours on end. His mother had crafted it just for him, back in ancient times, and he could still see her face in it if he looked hard enough. He had preserved it and kept it with him through shadow magic. It had been his only possession during his long wait in the millennium ring, the only thing that kept him any sort of semblance of sane. Now that he had a 'home' again, he returned it to the physical world, and kept it with him when he needed a reminder that he had obligations, a mission to fulfill, a revenge to take, and a rent to pay. A reminder that he couldn't just give in to the grief, the anger, the rage. A reminder of his past, a symbol of his present, and an omen of his future.

It was enough for him, he would get by and carry on.

He always had.

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This may be a bad time to mention this, but I don't think I have gotten a flame yet. I'm so happy. No, that is not an open invitation to start sending me random flames.

I still haven't decided whether it is better to shamelessly beg for reviews or just ignore the issue entirely. Oh well.

Bye, I promise to finish this chapter of Cultural Exchange and A Duelist's Travels soon. Very soon. Hopefully.


	4. Maybe

Hi! This is my first first person POV fic.

I hope you all like.

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Ryou's POV

* * *

Last thing I remember, I was in class. Now I find myself in this thick gray fog, listening to voices I can almost hear, but not quite. The fog is all enshrouding, and I can't seem to do anything. After an indeterminable amount of time the fog lessens, and I can make out the faint outline of a room. I fight at the fog all around me; the room is getting clearer every moment. All of a sudden sound and feeling return to the scene, even if my vision is still a little hazy. I gasp in air like I haven't breathed in months and look around me. The room is still dark, but I know it well enough, it's my own.

I'm lying on my bed, and as soon as I can move, I bring my hands up to stare at them. They're devoid of any trace of crimson or scent of copper. I rest them back at my sides and just lay there.

This has happened before. Enough times for me to get it that I was just blacking out, like a regular person. A regular person, ha. Of course I should have known he would find a way to take that away, take advantage of me. Again. Else how would I be in my house, in my room, on my bed?

I can feel him, in the back of my mind, probing, checking. He wants to know if I'm ok, and he doesn't want me to know it. I pay him no heed, other than the vague wondering feeling of what happened while I was 'out'. I could have sworn I heard a scream, even through the fog, but I wasn't sure. He gives me no answers, but then again, he never does. Lucky for me, I'm usually good at figuring things out with a few hints and fewer facts, but this time I just don't know.

He should be gone. He shouldn't even be here in the first place.

He knows I won't ever tell them that he's still here. We need each other. I need his protection, his always-thereness. He needs my body, my closeness to them for his self proclaimed mission, his revenge. We both need someone to prevent our slipping off the edge of sanity.

Anyway, if I tell them, they'll just be in danger again, even the ones not part of his original wrath. And they'll never be able to get rid of him, not until he's finished with this, with the need that has kept him hanging on all these millennia. Never.

Sometimes, I talk to him. Nothing specific or powerful or special, I just talk. I tell him all sorts of things, some of before he came, some of while he was dormant, some of now. I tell him how my day went, or how I miss Amane, or how father used to be before he got 'buried alive' in his work. I tell him what I'm thinking, as if he didn't already know. He's better than most people to talk to, in that he's always there to listen, he never cuts me off or tries to speak over me. And I know he'll never tell anyone else anything I say to him.

At first I was afraid to, thought he would stop me forcefully, or yell or hurt someone. But there is no one else I can really talk to, he made sure of that. Anytime I tried to tell someone he would stop me by force, or if it slipped out the person would turn up missing. And there would be either a new dagger or a new Monster World figurine. And each time I would vow that it would never happen again, until I finally built up enough restraint and craftiness that it didn't. So, if he doesn't like this situation, this solitude he's imposed upon me and himself, and there's nothing he can do now about it.

Maybe he knows what it is to need someone to talk to, someone to confide in.

The only others I can speak to freely are my figurines, and I usually just end up crying and just repeating 'I'm sorry.' over and over again. I used to take pride in carving lifelike figures in the likeness of my friends, but now he's sullied that and I've vowed to myself never to carve them again.

I don't think I have any more of them that aren't inhabited by the souls of people who were once friends or of rivals. But it's all my fault anyway. Had I not felt some resentment, had some angry thought about them that set the rent-paying spirit on them, they would all be fine now. And people wonder why I seem so docile, never an angry word or standing up for myself if it means a conflict. I try to protect them, but I'm so weak and he's so strong. He pries into my head and looks in my heart, and things that should never be seen are put forth into the light of day, or rather, night. And he tries to 'fix' them, tries to get rid of the problems at the source.

Maybe he needs to get to the source the feelings and thoughts came from, and get rid of that.

Those who drove me to anger just to see how far they could get away with it may have deserved their fate more than the others, but still, that form of rent was too high a price to pay, especially for simple carelessness or weakness on my part.

No, that wasn't quite correct. I still have one figurine that is just a figure, even if it means much more to me. I, long ago, carved a little figurine of Amane as an Elf Magician. She always wanted to be able to work magic, mostly to help people. I also made a figure of myself, for her to keep. The two figures alone were a set I made, and I put so much care and detail into them that they took the longest time of any figures I have ever made. I stare at her likeness every day, and she seems to smile at me and give me the courage I need to go on. I'm sure the spirit would scoff at me and call me a sentimental fool for that. But then again, he has never harmed my family, which I am thankful for every day.

He does seem to believe family a sacred thing, even if he scoffs at the whole concept of friendship as useless nonsense.

I wonder if those sentiments have anything to do with his recurring dream. Every time he tries to sleep at night, he has the same dream, or rather, nightmare. In it, him from now is staring at a scene from some ancient past. In the scene people in a small village are going about regular daily business. Then the screams start. We can hear the blades hacking into everything and everyone. The screams shortly stop, cut off as quickly as they began, and the streets run red under the blazing sun. Lights flash and the scene changes to one of a child staring around a corner at horrors that were just out of sight to me, but that him and the child see it as plain as day, and the child sobs and shakes in silence and fear. The dream always ends with a vat of molten gold laced with streaks of blazing red. At the end he is always watching with that dead look in his eyes and crimson liquid streaks that run from the inner corners of his eyes, all the way down his face. He watches the whole thing through each time it 'happens' without even noticing my presence at all. The look on his face throughout is heart-rending. I think something of him dies each time he sees the dream. Whenever he awakes from the dream, he is screaming with pain and sorrow and rage, screaming the names of people he can't quite remember. Once he regains control of himself, he runs, far and out into the black as pitch night, without once so much as considering at where he heads.

Maybe he just needs to know that he's free and unbound.

Maybe he wants to get lost for no other reason than to be a stranger in a strange place, no history, no rep, no need to hold his pride, no need to judge or be judged.

No wonder he stopped sleeping save a few short cat naps every now and then. I could even see his dream before I could even hear his voice, it was so forceful. I think it's a memory, but I don't know how anyone could live with something like that.

Maybe that's what he uses his insanity to escape from.

Maybe it's what fuels his need for revenge.

Maybe it's why he wouldn't leave me now.

He uses me, and I don't care. I don't want him to leave now.

He's the only family I've got left. I think I'm the only family he has left.

We need each other.

Then again, maybe I'm just delusional.

I slowly and mechanically get up and put some music on, anything, and crank it loud so that I don't have to think anymore. I lie back on the bed gently and try to enjoy my assuredly short respite.

_**I'm gonna wake up yes and no**_

_**I'm gonna miss some part of you**_

_**I'm gonna keep the secret**_

_**I'm gonna shut my body down**_

_**I guess I'll die another day**_

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Oh, and the next chapter will be Bakura's POV. Yes, Cultural Exchange is being put on hold.

Again.


	5. Nothing

Hi! As promised, here is the Bakura POV chapter.

Enjoy!

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**Bakura's POV**

It's getting worse.

Ryou's always, as long as I've been with him, been pale and sickly, prone to illnesses. But never like this, never near so bad, and now twice in one day.

He went to his doctor recently. Just a regular check-up he said, just to make sure he's still healthy. Even then he was beginning to feel it, the bone tiredness, the icy chill, the fainting spells, that so afflict him now.

He tries to hide it from the world, from me, although the latter only halfheartedly. He thinks of me as omnipotent, omniscient, seeing everything he thinks, feels or wants to say. A sentiment I know is not true, and have done nothing to discourage. Even if, after all these years almost silent within him, I do sometimes have trouble telling where I end and he begins. The line betwixt us is not near so thick and separate as he wishes to think, anyway.

He had a fainting spell right in the doctor's office, albeit a short one. At that point, I had no idea what was going on, so I let him be. When he awoke, the doctor told him that although he was sickly and weak in his immune system since birth, he had gotten much worse lately. Much, much worse. He was weakened in body, his pulse rate lowered, his reflexes slowed. He told Ryou that he could be coming down with something, and if he had to put a date on when he might have caught it, when it had started, it would be when Ryou began his most recent school, Domino High. Nothing was going around school at that time, and nothing had happened around then. I know that for sure.

Nothing except when I became truly awake and first spoke to him. When I became active and closer to alive than I have been since...

I'm killing him. The one good thing that's happened to me in millennia, and I'm killing him. Just like my anger, my rage, my hatred is killing me, just not so literally and physically. For him to live, I would have to leave somehow. The only thing is that while he can't live with me here, I don't think I can live without him here. But either way, he's going to be gone. Whether dead gone, or rid of me gone it amounts to the same thing. Gone. Nothing. Even if there were some way to separate our two souls, and get me out of his body, he'd never stick around anywhere nearby anyway. He'd want to move on, to forget, to go find some new 'friends', people who wouldn't hurt him or restrict him or use him. But people who wouldn't know him either, and never really would. People who wouldn't know what he wanted and needed, almost better than he did himself. People who wouldn't be able to grant his wishes. Why, if he doesn't like the way I pay rent, doesn't he just tell me what he wishes for? I don't accept charity, not even unwilling or unknowing charity. Almost anything I'd do, aside from two things. I can't, or won't, I'm never sure anymore, go away and can't or won't leave the puzzle toting brat and co. alone. Not after this perfect chance, after all these millennia, all the sacrifice, all the...

I just can't help it that my little master foolishly chose to befriend them. Anyway, this will just be saving him from a whole bunch of inevitable pain, from the inevitable betrayal.

He wants to tell his 'friends' about me. He thinks they can help. He thinks that they want to help. He doesn't realize that they'd just lock him up and throw away the key, leave him to rot and languish and regret forever. It doesn't matter that he knows that he didn't commit any of my 'crimes', even if they were committed when I was in his body. It doesn't even matter if they know him to be innocent. All they want is someone to blame, someone to lock up and put away and make their world a better place. Save the world, get the bad guy, doesn't matter if a few innocents get stepped on, get sacrificed to ensure victory. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Or the one. That's all nice and pretty, until you're the one, until it's your turn to be sacrificed for the greater good. Then, all of a sudden, it's wrong. It's evil, unacceptable. And to want justice? Justice for horrible, unspeakable acts committed in the best interests of the greater good? That's the worst crime of all.

If landlord only knew all the things he knew about me that I didn't want him to know. All the things he sees without seeing that he sees them. But the rest of the world is blind, and I keep him in the dark, so I maintain my relative safety. Walking a fine line between teaching and hiding. Little master, so naive and trusting, yet to have that trust shattered, as must inexorably happen.

I tried to tell him once, about how I was affecting his body. How he was affecting me. I didn't get very close. It was during a lesson, one on poisons. He was tired, and I was finishing early, as not to tax him too much in his state of illness. Imparting one last tidbit of information before leaving. About the most deadly kinds of poisons. Not the quickest, or the most potent, just the most deadly. I told him that the most deadly poisons were the ones that, even though you know that it's killing you, and that you need only stop to save yourself, you don't want to. I was telling him, telling my one true poison, not about simple craving or addiction, but about the nature of needing. Even though he was the one dieing and I was the one needing. And I don't think he got it. But then again, I don't really think I got it either. After finishing with an analogy to salt or chemically speaking Na-Cl, two deadly poisons combined into something that everyone is so eager to shove into their bodies, I am sure he was thoroughly confused. But I didn't really want him to understand, I figured that out. If he does, he's surely gone, and once he's gone so also is my fragile grip on semi-sanity and any chance of revenge, of justice, of retribution, of amends.

And after that? After revenge, justice, victory?

There's nothing. Nothing for me, no going back, no fixing, no amends, no truth, no life, no death.

Just nothing, a welcome, unwanted nothing.

And maybe, hopefully, unlikely, someone to share that nothing with.

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Ok, not exactly what I planned it to be. Oh well, I don't thing it turned out too terribly awful. I think. But it's not my opinion that matters, its yours. So tell me what you think. Please. I can't improve if I don't know what I'm doing right or wrong.

Thanks!

Bye-bye!


	6. Snow

And finally, comes the cross-over part. Yes it gets mysterious for awhile, but if you get the little hints I left, then you can probably figure out who the new people are. If not, I explain it later.

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As the stranger huddled in the dark, shadowed alleyway, he pondered what to do next. Not even an hour into this world, and all his leads had petered out The sun had sunk out of sight a short time ago, and now it was evening, so there was nothing more he could do here. He looked up at his large, bulky companion, and was about to suggest they head home when a dart of motion in the shadows at the edge of his vision caught his attention.

"I'm gonna go one more round on patrol. Wait here." He told his companion calmly, then quickly moved off into the direction of the fleeting shadow.

"Be careful! Don't get lost!" he heard his companion yelling softly after him, and he smiled slightly, knowing that his companion was waving cheerfully at him, even though he lost sight of his tall companion after only a few steps into the inky darkness.

The shadowed figure, for he was sure now that it was a person's figure, reappeared not long after he started out and kept shortly ahead of him. He was in another alleyway far down from where he had started, and was about to give up and go back, when the shadow stopped short and gave a long maniacal cackle.

"What do you want with me?" The stranger boldly and rather annoyedly requested, in a tone that was nothing like a polite request, of the shadowed figure.

"You are looking for something." It was a statement, rather than a question, and spoken in silky tones that simultaneously made the stranger unconsciously relax a little and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The tone left no doubt that, could he see the figure's face, it would be accented with a twisted smile, of the kind that one could never tell if it mocked the giver or the receiver.

"So? And if I am?"

"I may want to help you."

"You may? And what interest might you have?"

But the shadow garbed figure only ignored his questions.

"Come to the house whose address is written on this sheet of paper in a short while," The figure lightly tossed a knife with a piece of paper attached to the hilt at the wall immediately behind the stranger. At that moment the stranger was too fighting to control his twitching eye, which no one saw it in the darkness, to notice how close the blade had come to his exposed neck. It did not escape his notice, however that the reason the stranger seemed so shadowy was that he was wearing a dark colored hooded cloak. As the shadowed figure moved with its strange sort of practiced and smooth grace, the stranger caught a glimpse of silvery sheen he supposed was the shadowy figure's hair.

"Follow the instructions on the paper, then I may tell you what I know." Then, without so much as a goodbye, the shadowy figure vanished into the night, leaving the stranger in a strange land alone with his thoughts. He pulled the dagger out of the wall and read the paper. Again he thought about the shadow garbed man's message. Finally he came to a decision.

He would go.

He had no other choice.

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As Bakura returned to 'his' home, he took a moment to lob snowballs at various signs and posts along the way. Just to keep up the appearance of a normal teenager, of course.

-Oh, come off it. You just wanted to have fun. You've never seen this snow before, being from Egypt, have you? - Thought a highly irate Ryou. Having his body commandeered three times in one day was defiantly not doing wonders for his mood, even with the festive holiday season approaching. He had just woken up as Bakura had started home from his 'outing'.

Bakura mumbled something about hosts that remembered snow, and seeing it through Ryou's eyes.

-But you've never been out in it, seen it with 'your own' two eyes, truly felt it on 'your' skin. The frozen breath of the wind, the chill ice tears of melting flakes until you get so cold that the snow no longer melts when it touches you. The soft covering to everything, the frozen beauty of the surrounding world...- Ryou realized he was rambling, saying things he had never told anyone else, and quickly clamed up. But not before putting in one last short remark. -I should have known you would take to the cold weather. Matches your icy disposition perfectly. - He finished in a certain chilled and far off tone, before locking himself in his spirit room until Bakura saw it fit to return his body to him.

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So, I hope that made some sort of sense. If not tell me and I'll change it and maybe re-post this chapter. I'm still experimenting with writing styles and POVs.

Later.


	7. Help

Well, I got bored so I decided to put up this part of the next chapter, which has now been split into three chapters, the last one, this one and the next one.That made not much sense, but oh well, it's late.The ending of the next chapterisn't quite typed up yet, but I just wanted to getthis up. Coming soon.

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The stranger had arrived with little difficulty at the address on the paper. He was outside a window, stretching and limbering his arms and legs. He would need to be prepared if he was to follow through on the paper's instructions. He read through the paper, written in a solid but very neat and a tad scripty, almost effeminate hand, one more time.

_Enter the house through the back door, the lock is easily picked or broken. Once inside, go up the stars on your left and enter the third door on the left side of the hallway. Use the dagger this was attached to attack the occupant of the room. There is no one else in the house. There is no need to worry about sound you make as you enter or move about. Be out of the house as soon as possible._

_Ps. Killing of the occupant is optional._

_-No one_

He folded the paper away and slipped it into his pocket, the set about breaking the window, muffling the sound with a piece of cloth. Even thought the note said not to worry about noise, he had learned that it was best not to tempt the fates. As the latch turned easily in his hand, he fished the dagger out of his pocket. It was a simple, minimalist design, designed for ease of use and efficiency, not style and comfort. The blade was both polished to a brilliant shine and sharpened to a hair-splitting point. Defiantly not a neglected tool, nor a half-bad looking one, and defiantly not for lack of use. Shifting the dagger to his left hand, he tried to get the weight and heft of the weapon. Its balance was slightly off, the only flaw he could find to a near-perfect tool. Stealthily slinking through the house, he came across very little, some furniture, a few pictures, some signs of everyday living. All the lights downstairs were off, and a lone, faint light drifted down from somewhere up the staircase. He approached the steps carefully, stepping on the outsides of the steps and not touching the hand railing, as to avoid give-away creaks or snaps. He could hear snatches of what could only be described as violent non-swearing coming from the room at the end of the hallway.

He stood for a moment in the doorway of the room, staring at the occupant, whom was facing away from the doorway and holding a hot one-sided argument with two different computers at the same time, one old-looking and one new looking. He had the same silvery-sheened hair as the person in the alleyway, but the voice was so different that it couldn't have been the same person. As the stranger stood there and watched and listened, it took him a short moment to realize he was being addressed by the room's occupant, whom was still facing the computers.

"Hi, um what are you doing... No I don't want to exit Windows!... here now, it's so late. Stop that, I don't know how to do DOS prompts. Stop. Sorry, where was I? Oh yes, if you want to play monster world... Ooh, a help file..., my sets are broken and I don't... Well that wasn't helpful at all... get a new one until... Hey, what's this floppy disk doing here?... next week. Well if that just doesn't beat all... The stupid floppy was doing it... Come on, come on, work darn you!... No!... How about a reboot... Um, if you want to come back... Yes! They work! Hello RuneScrape and Page of Mythology!... um want to come back later, that's fine." The boy in the room said. When he got no response, he swiveled around in his seat to face the doorway. His bright evergreen colored eyes widened in shock and his pale complexion got a few shades whiter, as he was obviously not expecting a knife wielding stranger in his doorway. The stranger was finally broken out of his reverie by the scream he could see threatening to well up in the boy's throat. He snapped back to reality and quickly rushed the boy, whom he could see now, was really more of a teen than a child, as his first impression had been. The boy rolled of his chair and came into a low crouch with the same strange sort of grace that the shadowy figure had moved with in the alleyway. After that point, his instincts seemed to totally desert him, as he madly searched for some sort of weapon or escape route.

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Ryou groped wildly for the plug to his CD/cassette player, to at least give himself some sort of semblance of a weapon. He stared at the intruder, a shortish boy with long blonde hair pulled back into a braid. Ryou envied him slightly for being able to wear a style like that, and not have even the slightest chance of being mistaken for a girl. It was also quite evident from the way he moved, held himself, and handled the weapon in his hand, that he had gotten professional combat training, and lots of it. Ryou knew he stood no chance, but he couldn't just give up and get killed, or worse, depending on the intruders intentions. Ryou finally figured that he couldn't get the cord detached from the CD/cassette player, but he did manage to get a thin pen out of his pocket using the CD/cassette player as a distraction. Quickly coming up with a plan, then executing it the next moment, he flung the CD/cassette player into the intruder's face and rushed up at him with the pen. Unfortunately for Ryou, he saw it coming and sidestepped the blow while striking one of his own with the knife. Ryou could feel the wave of despair and hopelessness wash over him, just the same as he felt the searing metal cutting into the flesh of his arms. One word escaped his mouth in a faint voice as he fought to escape from his attacker, who was now relentlessly pressing him, heading for a corner to trap him.

"Help..."

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Sorry about the minor cliffie. No killie please, or you won't get the next chapter at all.

I'd better go write some more. Sigh, I shouldn't have watched the YGO ep this sat. It was an ancient Egypt one with lots of Bakura. Now I have all sorts of new ideas for this, and I was hoping to get back to Cultural Exchange soon.

Oh well.

Syanara.


	8. Battle

So, another chapter comes and goes. Finally. This never-ending chapter I had to split three times just seemed to take forever.

Hey, has anyone seen Into the Woods? It's a musical, and we're going to be doing it at my school, but they've only given out the music CDs so far. I'm so exited, and nervous, casting gets posted today. I hope I get a part. Oh, wait I had a relivant point coming up there. And that was... Oh, yeah! The witch's Last Midnight song (I don't know the actual name of the song) mostly seems to me to be a perfect match to Bakura's feelings and POV. Like 'You're not good, you're not bad, you're just nice. I'm not good, I'm not nice, I'm just right. I'm the witch, you're the world.' and 'You... had to get your wish, doesn't matter how, anyway it doesn't matter now.' Or maybe I'm just a tad crazy and overanylitical. (All the authors I know are crazy, just a little. I think it's an unofficial rule of authorness.)

Enough rambleing, you aren't here to hear me talk all day.

Just by the way of a diclaimer, If you think I own Yu-Gi-Oh, you must be more psycotic than Bakura. Or the other Bakura. Or the other, other Bakura.

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"Help..." the cornered teen with silky silver hair and soft green eyes whispered, as the stranger prepared for his final blow. The stranger wondered who the teen could be talking to, or if he was just suffering from delusions caused by despair.

Then everything changed.

The boy's whole demeanor shifted. All of a sudden he was looking back into the stranger's eyes with a totally bring-it-on but cool and composed not-even-worth-my-time look. His hands no longer blindly came up to protect his face, but rather reached for the weapon grasped in the stranger's hands. Then an amused smile broke across his face.

"Only slight wounds to non-vital areas. So well done for a pop quiz. Little master might get a reward for this." He said in a lightly amused tone.

"I'm only going to say this one more time. What the heck do you want with me, psycho?" The stranger demanded. He was now severely confused, thus consequently severely annoyed and agitated. This person facing him now was certainly the very same man who has led him through the alleys and given him the knife. But he had been just as sure a moment ago that the boy before him was not the same person as the shadowy figure in the alleyway. Then he saw the silvery-haired man's eyes. Contrary to his prior note of their being a brilliant and stunning green, they were now a dullish earthy red-brown, that conjured up images of drying blood in the stranger's mind. They also sparked with some nameless anger and shone with a slight gleam of hidden and supressed madness and bloodlust. The silvery haired man seemed to have forgotten his presence until he spoke. His eyes come back into a better focus and he fixed them on the stranger. He got a firm grip on the dagger's blade, and he gave it a slight but solid twist-flick. Suddenly the stranger was cradling a numb left arm and a hand twitching with pain.

"You must have learned to fight from someone experienced. Didn't anyone ever teach you never to fight with someone else's weapon? A special kink in the hilt, a matching pressure point in the hand. It makes the weapon slightly off balance, but you can adjust for it one you get accustomed to it. A perfect way to disarm and disable an enemy simultaneously, wouldn't you say? Of course, that's if you don't mind a little pain. And blood." The silver haired boy mockingly asked, looking at his messy and now partially mangled hand. All he got in response from the stranger was a grumble and a renewed attack.

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It was so easy to provoke the intruder that it was almost funny to Bakura. He sidestepped the stranger's swipe with perfect ease. Bakura carefully thought before he spoke again. Not that he wanted that to show.

"Now that you usefulness is over, you are expendable. And I just can't have you blab to anyone about this meeting or my presence. Goodbye." Bakura stated in a stark, bare, careless tone, adding a small smile at the end for good measure. A blatant out and out lie, but it would be good to have this boy, whom he had overheard to be searching for a way to make a body, then transfer a living soul to it, thinking he had barely gotten away with his life. The threat that life can be cut short at any moment was a wonderful motivator, Bakura had found. To have death staring you in the face really gets people moving. Bakura could feel struggles from Ryou at what he had said. His body froze up, his eyes glazed over and for a short moment were a muddy green-brown shade. He whispered one word.

"Sleep." Then his eyes resolidified into the terra cottaish red-brown, and Ryou's body was fully under his control once again.

"Come at me then, that is, if you think you can take me." The stranger called out.

"Weaponless and defenseless? Such a shame, it would have been a wonderful fight were it fair and even." Bakura said, circleing. Then found an opening and lunged as he added with a smile, "Too bad I don't fight fair. I fight to win."

The stranger ducked and executed an evasive shoulder roll, over his non-injured arm. He landed on his feet with his hand touching a large rock Ryou kept, but really didn't know what to do with. A bright flash of light suddenly filled the room, temporarily blinding Bakura.

"Good. Because I don't fight fair either." The stranger replied from somewhere in the room. Bakura suppressed a chuckle. The stranger had given himself away with the very sound of his voice. He had given Bakura, with his sensitive hearing and knowledge of Ryou's room layout, a perfect frame of reference for any sounds of motion, no matter how slight, to relay the stranger's exact posture and position. He turned to block the stranger's incoming attack with his arm, and was shocked to feel something cold and sharp slicing into his arm. His vision returning slightly by now, Bakura could just barely make out some sort of blade in his opponent's right hand. It seemed to be some sort of stone, but looked too smooth to have been carved or chiseled. Unless that was just the fuzziness of his vision tricking him.

It may have been the shock of being cut into unexpectedly, or the fact that he had been sure that the stranger was unarmed just a moment ago, but Bakura's instincts just took over at that point. He had not meant to strike a deadly blow, or even a permanently disabling one. With his lightning fast reflexes, he jabbed one of his knives firmly though the back of the stranger's left knee, and twisted hard. While he was doing that, he used the original dagger to slash up the stranger's left arm, and buried the whole width of the blade into the stranger's right wrist. Bakura's vision had finally fully returned by then.

The stranger's eyes glazed over for a moment, then he seemed to be taking stock of the situation. When he finished his conclusion was written all over his face. The stranger's look clearly said that he wasn't going to win any battles here and now, and a furtive glance at Ryou's window clearly stated an escape plan.

Bakura was in total shock over what he had done, and was mentally cussing up a storm in every single language he knew. He was still in shock when the stranger made his limping leap out the window, and so did nothing to stop him.

When Bakura came back to reality, he figured that the stranger wouldn't get very far with his wounds, and would probably outright bleed to death within the next few minutes. He was vaguely annoyed at having to go out sometime to find and hide the body, but he wanted his daggers back. He was disappointed; the stranger had shown so much potential to progress in finding a way to get his own body. Bakura was in such a world of his own, that he didn't notice the bloodstains all over himself and the room, or the pain from cuts of various lengths and depths. Neither did he realize there was a smooth, rounded hole of fair good size missing in Ryou's large rock, nor did he notice the shiny silver trinket the stranger had dropped during the battle. He was very distracted indeed, to miss that detail with his fondness for silver. Bakura returned to the millennium ring to contemplate these latest developments, and to sulk.

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Ryou quickly regained control of his body after Bakura left, and cast a dejected look over his room and himself. With a sigh, he set about cleaning himself and dressing his wounds. Once that was finished, he began the task of removing the blood from his room before it caused permanent stains. As he did so, he sighed again. Ryou doubted anyone could loose so much blood as was spattered around his room and still live.

He wondered what had happened to the stranger that had attacked him, during the time Bakura had kept him subdued, while trying to shut out the depressing near certainty that he already knew what.

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Wow. You all must really dislike this story, seeing as the last three chapters got zip, zilch, and nil reviews, respectively. Tell me the brutal truth, did I kill a good story idea? Or was it just rotten to begin with?

This story has just under 1 fewer hits than my other seven chaper story, and it has almost 80 fewer reviews(real, true statstics I calculated).

If trends keep going this way (meaning if no one shows any interest) I may just go back to Cultural Exchange, or A Duelist's Travels and drop this story. Even if I don't really feel like writing parody, humor, or Inuyasha right now.

So I want your truthful and fully honest opinion.

Should I continue this, or go back to Cultural Exchange?

Or is it just that my writing so pathetic and horrible that you don't really care about either story, and don't care if I stop writing altogether?

Bye For Now,

-Your Very Despondent Authoress, Kit


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